Chapter 6

Freya's pov.

I woke up feeling like I'd been run over by a damn carriage. My entire body ached, my back still raw from the punishment, but at least I wasn't drowning in agony anymore. Sleep had come heavily, like a thick, suffocating blanket, and I hadn't even stirred until the first light broke through my small, grimy window.

I pushed myself upright, wincing at the soreness that rippled through me. Whatever healing balm Theon had brought me had helped, but not nearly enough. Still, I wouldn't allow myself to wallow. I had survived worse.

After washing up and changing into a fresh servant's dress, I made my way to the kitchen. The castle was still asleep—just the way I liked it. Mornings were my only moments of peace. I ate quickly, savoring the rare luxury of silence before the chaos of the day began.

The moment I stepped outside for fresh air, my world tilted.

A scent—intoxicating, addictive—slammed into me like a force of nature. My breath caught in my throat, and I turned my head instinctively, searching, needing to know where it was coming from.

Then I saw him.

Dorian.

He was walking toward me from the training grounds, his gait smooth, effortless—until it wasn't. His movements faltered, his muscles locking up as his head snapped toward me. The predatory focus in his darkening eyes sent a shiver down my spine.

I barely noticed the sweat glistening on his skin, the defined ridges of his abs, the tattoos carved across his chest and ribs. None of that mattered. Not when the air between us burned with something primal, something suffocating.

His eyes darkened, black overtaking the blue like a storm swallowing the sky. A deep, guttural growl rumbled in his chest, his wolf—the Beast—rising to the surface with a terrifying, uncontrollable force.

Mate.

The word wasn't just spoken—it was felt, reverberating through my very bones. My wolf, the one I had never heard, the one I thought was broken, whimpered in response.

Dorian didn't hesitate. He closed the distance in an instant, his mouth crashing against mine in a brutal, consuming kiss. Heat exploded through me, a wildfire spreading in my veins. My knees almost gave out, my entire body betraying me, melting into him as though he owned me.

For that moment, nothing else existed.

Then, just as suddenly, it was ripped away.

Dorian tore himself back, breathing heavily, his expression twisting into something I couldn't decipher. Fury. Disgust. Denial.

"Fuck," he snarled, running a hand through his damp hair. "Fuck this."

I could still taste him, still feel the raw imprint of his touch on my lips. My heart was a thunderous roar in my chest, but his rejection slammed into me harder than any slap ever could.

I stepped back, feeling like the ground beneath me had crumbled. "Dorian—"

"Don't." His voice was cold, empty. "You say a single word to anyone about this, and I'll make sure you regret it."

My stomach twisted. The warmth that had ignited moments ago turned to ice. "What?"

"I don't fucking want this." His jaw was clenched, his hands fisting at his sides like he was barely holding himself together. "I don't want you."

My breath hitched. It shouldn't have hurt as much as it did.

"I'll let you recover," he went on, voice sharp. "Because rejection would fucking destroy you in this state. But don't get comfortable." His dark eyes flickered over me, assessing, judging. "This means nothing."

He turned on his heel and left, not sparing me another glance.

I stood frozen, my entire body trembling. The bond that had nearly consumed me just moments ago now felt like it was strangling me.

I refused to cry.

Instead, I forced myself to move, stumbling back into the kitchen, gripping the counter for support. I couldn't afford to break. Not now.

Minutes passed before the other servants arrived, and I threw myself into work, preparing breakfast as though my world hadn't just fucking imploded.

The dining hall was already bustling when I entered, balancing a tray of dishes. I could feel eyes on me—King Maximilian, watching me with that unreadable gaze of his. But worse, I felt Dorian before I even saw him.

His scent. His presence.

I knew he was near.

When he finally entered, he was composed, controlled. Not a single trace of the chaos from earlier. But I could feel it. I knew better.

The meal was quiet at first, until Maximilian set his goblet down with finality. "Our visit is over," he announced. "We return to the capital today."

A breath of relief. I was ready for them to be gone. But it lasted only a second before Dorian spoke.

"She's coming with us."

My head snapped up. "What?"

Dorian's expression was unreadable, but his eyes flashed with warning. "Pack your things."

I shook my head. "Why—"

"Do what you're fucking told, or you'll learn your lesson the hard way."

His voice was ice, edged with threat, and the dining hall stilled. Theon shifted beside me, tense.

"No." His voice was firm. "She's not leaving."

Dorian turned to him, lips curling into a smirk. "And why the fuck not?"

Theon lifted his chin. "Because she's my mate."

Silence.

The words didn't make sense. My heart slammed against my ribs.

Dorian's entire body tensed, his wolf dangerously close to the surface. I could see the raw fury in his gaze, his grip on the table tightening.

Possessive. Territorial.

No.

I felt it in my soul. Dorian was my mate.

Then why the hell was Theon lying?

Dorian exhaled sharply, dark amusement flickering through his features. "Is that so?" His voice was low, deadly. "Well, Theon. I hope you're ready to fucking bleed for that lie."